The Rockower Post; National Jewographic;
Reports from the Daily Paulmanac; Foreign Paulicy Review; Tales of a Hunger-Blatherer; The Gastrodiplomacy Chef; Chairman of Paulestinian Authority; the last King of Nepaul

First, about those myths: Many people seem to believe that the loans Athens has received since the crisis broke have been subsidizing Greek spending.

The truth, however, is that the great bulk of the money lent to Greece has been used simply to pay interest and principal on debt. In fact, for the past two years, more than all of the money going to Greece has been recycled in this way: the Greek government is taking in more revenue than it spends on things other than interest, and handing the extra funds over to its creditors.

Or to oversimplify things a bit, you can think of European policy as involving a bailout, not of Greece, but of creditor-country banks, with the Greek government simply acting as the middleman — and with the Greek public, which has seen a catastrophic fall in living standards, required to make further sacrifices so that it, too, can contribute funds to that bailout.

I just got here, so haven't had too much of a chance to gauge the feelings around the agora. Just initial conversations are a bit of pride that Greece feels like it has a say again in its own affairs, and a bit of realization that Greece has a lot more leverage now, especially as elections loom in Spain and other countries wracked by austerity and with parties similar to Syriza rising in the polls.

The first is that, at this moment in the media, scale means social traffic. Links from other bloggers — the original currency of the blogosphere, and the one that drove its collaborative, conversational nature — just don't deliver the numbers that Facebook does. But blogging is a conversation, and conversations don't go viral. People share things their friends will understand, not things that you need to have read six other posts to understand.
Blogging encourages interjections into conversations, and it thrives off of familiarity.

Social media encourages content that can travel all on its own. Alyssa Rosenberg put it well at the Washington Post. "I no longer write with the expectation that you all are going to read every post and pick up on every twist and turn in my thinking. Instead, each piece feels like it has to stand alone, with a thesis, supporting paragraphs and a clear conclusion."

As anyone who reads this blog knows, I have not been writing as much anymore. I would probably cite a few reasons in varying levels of importance: a) I have a girlfriend who takes up a lot of the time that used to be spent on the blog. b) My work leaves me little time to blog--I am so focused on the details of the programs I run that I scarcely have time to come up for air. The second point does sadden me a bit, because at a time when I have so much fodder to discuss, I have so little time to discuss it.

There is also a factor that I should honestly admit: the social factor of social media. When I post something on Facebook, be it a picture or an article or my thoughts, there is immediate feedback and a bit of positive reinforcement that simply does not come with posting a tome on my blog. Granted, it is a shallow bit of "likery" but, to be perfectly honest, it is still more fulfilling (slightly) to get some feedback that social media offers.

But maybe I will make it a goal to get back more into the habit of writing. I do miss the cathartic nature of getting the plague of my ideas off my shoulders and into the ethereal blog space. This is something that the blog offers, and that I miss.

In a city where politics and diplomacy are the lifeblood of our being, it may be worth a moment to consider that the arrival of new ethnic restaurants often mirrors of the state of play in any given hot-spot around the globe. Food is borderless and a tangible sign of just how globalized we are.

The next morning it was snowing a soft white. A modest winter wonderland. In the snow dusting, Marianna and I went wandering through the snowscape, with the frozen ponds and ducks and other birds walking on the frozen crust.

I got to really play with my camera--focusing in on little waterdrops hanging from the frozen trees. The melting icedrops dripping from the branches gave the melting pond top a textured indentations like that of concrete.

In the resplendent noon sun, I sipped espresso off the shimmering canal.

Marianna and I made our way back to Moksi for lunch, and it was incredible. I left it to Michael the chef to surprise us.

Out came plates of spiced curry chicken and lamb, Vibrant roasted peppers and aubergines over rice, sate noodles and roti filled with chickpea flower.

After an immaculate lunch, Marianna and I met her friends at a store that had a cafe and restaurant on the roof that gave a panorama view of the city. I went out one door and took some pictures. Then I noticed a longer roof top with a better view. I opened the shut doors and walked out onto the roof, and shut the doors behind me. I walked on the roof top, past people in their conference rooms as i shot pics of the best view of the city at sunset.

And it also got me a nice chat with Dutch security. When I came back out through the door, a security woman beckoned me over. She asked if I had just gone outside. I said yes, and I pointed at my camera. I told her that I had not seen a sign. The security woman told me that I had tripped an alarm, and more security was coming. I offered my apologies.

We sat and chatted a bit. I told her of my work, and that I had just come from Senegal, and was on my way to Zimbabwe. That is very cool, she said. When the security guard arrived, she politely explained to him the situation, and that I had just walked out for a photo. He nodded and grunted and left. She wished me a good life and safe travels. The Dutch are so understanding of photographic pursuits.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

We spent the morning passing through a grey frost of foggy pea soup. We ventured lost through the Oudegracht canal, searching for Surinamese. After hunger and tire set in, we ventured into Graaf Floris to warm our weary bones.

Steeped in old world charm of velvet, mahogany and burlap, we sat by the fiery hearth sipping hot spiced wine to warm the body and soul.

I had a traditional Dutch beef stew prepared with abbey beer and gingerbread. The beer-braised beef could be cut with a spoon. I drizzled the stew on frittes and dabbed it with crusty warm bread.

The Alexandrians sensed, of course,that these were mere words and theatricals.But the day was warm and poetical,the sky a pale azure

Keeping the cold day at bay with hot spiced wine as I read the Greek poetry of Cavafy as the old master spins verse of ghost Greek kings facing the fates.

"a Greek gentleman in a straw hat, standing absolutely motionless at a slight angle to the universe," was how E.M. Forester described Cavafy.

Along the canal, we sipped rooibos tea and kafie verkeerd in a warm cafe, admiring the reflections of the arched bridges.
We ventured back through the city to the old cathedral that once was the center of Utrecht. We wandered through the cloisters of the old marvel.

We wandered through the funky eclectic little canaled city. Marianna got earrings of eggshells and of moonstones.

Eventually we found the Surinamese I had been searching for. While she snapped pictures of the evening lights reflecting in the canal, I popped in to a found Moksi.

"Hello Paul," said the owner. She recognized me immediately; I recognized the smell of sumptuous curries.

I chatted with the owner about life and other things. They had opened up a second shop near the cathedral bell tower. It was next to a Greek shop, and I had seen it earlier but hadn't realized its provenance.

I planned to come back the next day for lunch.

The evening was spent in the dire attempts to stay warm. Some warmth was indeed found over frittes slathered in curry ketchup.

There might be some bigger contrasts going from Dakar to Stuttgart, some I have even experienced (like Calcutta to Amsterdam), but the change in scenery is pretty incredible and profound.

The NL Senegal program was a bit of a blur, I will leave it at that.

As befitting my incessant travels, I received a ticket into the first class lounge at the Dakar airport. I tried to bring my group in but to no avail. So instead, I smuggled water out stuffed in the pockets of my coat.

With a few remaining questions ("No, you can't bring a baobab sampling back to 'Murica") answered, the team boarded their 1am flight home. And I killed some time back in the first class lounge as I waited for my own 2am flight out, sipping an armagnac to celebrate the conclusion of a tricky residency.

I slept through the first class flight to Portugal, and meandered through the immigration line into Europe. I caught the connecting flight from Lisbon to Frankfurt, and killed some time waiting for my train to Stuttgart.

As I was sitting on a bench, waiting for the train. Two old German ladies sat next to me and we got to chatting. They were out on their adventure from their village, to see the busy-ness of the city. They sat back on the bench and rested their legs, and one lady swung her legs back and forth in a manner that belied her years. They were on their big adventure for the day, and I was almost done with mine.

I hopped the speeding train from Frankfurt passed Manheim Station ("By Jack, I swear to Kerouac"), marveling at the quietness and smoothness of the ride.

From the train, I hopped the U-Bahn (the tram) through Stuttgart, marveling at the spires and capelas that had replaced the mosques.

And like that I was in a completely opposite world of quiet precision to replace the boisterous colorful life. Trading sand and dust for snow and fog.

Wednesday, January 07, 2015

I
love the birthday wishes streaming in from Iraq, India, Brazil,
Switzerland, Bangladesh, Taiwan and the rest of the four corners of
the globe--it feels like a reminder that I was once present in
someone else's life.

I
am 35, and find myself exactly half way between the 30s decade. And
staring at the azure waves of the ocean lap against the cliffs below
me as I sit off the coast of West Africa, I feel pretty damn good.

I
feel content this birthday in ways that I didn't at the last hinge
point when I was busy reflecting: my 30th birthday.

Five
years ago, I was struggling with turning 30. I was feeling that
I was entering my third decade, I hadn't accomplished enough. So
I hopped on a bus in Los Angeles, and headed down to Panama to hit
the remainder that would mark 50 countries visited by my 30th
birthday.

Now,
in the five years that have passed I am up to 70 countries I have
visited. Since that day and up to this point, I have had so
many adventures and tilted at so many windmills that I can't even
recount them all.

Sitting
here, listening to the waves lap against the coast of Mama Afrika, I
feel so utterly blessed.

I
feel that I am doing the work I was meant to do--connecting people
through music, dance, food and culture. A bit of tikkun
olam through
cultural diplomacy. My valiant quixotic attempts at repairing a
jagged world through understanding borne out of public diplomacy--the
communication of peoples.

At
30, traversing Central America through I was a bit lost at how this
road would lead; at 35, sitting off the African coast, I feel like i
have found a bit of direction, which gives me a bit of peace.

Perhaps
I love birthdays so because they are point where you get to focus on
past, present and future all at once. For once, I feel at peace
with my past, my present and my future.

I
will end this birthday missive with a few words of wisdom. First
from a fellow Capricorn who shares a birthday, and whose words I
found on a subway in New York on my 29th birthday as the angst of
turning 30 kicked in.

"I do not know what I may appear to the world; but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me." -Isaac Newton (2 Train Brooklyn to Manhattan, "Train of Thought")

And
of course, my favorite song by my dear dulcinea Dellas, which I was
so honored when they dedicated it to me in a theater in Sorrocaba
during our adventures in Brazil during the World Cup.

I am a seeker of fortune I am an honest man I’m tied to my morals By a steady handI’ll bow my headInto the seaLet the wavesWash over me

Thank
you to all in my life who have shared their love, light and blessing
with me in my 35 years on this long and winding road.
...and of course: the 4 birthday questions:
1) B-day Dinner: Eating puppies and kimchi with Kim Jung-Un in Pyongyang after a crazy night of karoke
2) Best B-day: While not the best ever, a damn good one was spent for 32 in Boston with Harry (Sancho Harranza). I was surprised with the release of a Della video ("Paper Prince") on a WAMU Bluegrass session I had organized for their AMA tour. Harry and I ate falafel at Rami's, and sipped Arbor Gold from the top of the Pru. Then we had Chinese scalp massages, before I had a candlepin birthday party in Sommerville.
3) Last year: Bowling in the midst of a polar vortex
4) Next year: Havana!

About Me

One of a dying breed of Bohemian, Orientalist Zionists. Also a cunning linguist, phrase-turner, gastronomist and a Public Diplomacy Knight Errant. Of late, a PD Guru, Comm Swami, Idea Peddler and Sultan of Spin.